


Coin-Operated Boy

by blakefancier



Series: The Replicant 'verse [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:12:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows he's not Howard Stark.  He knows he's a state of the art replicant created by the Reliant arm of Stark Industries. His body mimics that of a human perfectly: he bleeds, bruises, feels pain, and heals, but his brain is an intricate computer, downloaded with the real Howard Stark's brain print. That Howard Stark, the one born of human parents, is dead.</p>
<p>But *he* is, for lack of a better word, alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coin-Operated Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, it's been awhile, hasn't it? I am sorry about that. I really, really am. Still, I wrote this and I have a bunch of other things percolating. 
> 
> As for this story, well, it's the first part of a series. I know, I *know*. Another series. But I got plans for this 'verse. Lots of dirtywrongbad ideas. :D

He knows he's not Howard Stark. He knows he's a state of the art replicant created by the Reliant arm of Stark Industries. His body mimics that of a human perfectly: he bleeds, bruises, feels pain, and heals, but his brain is an intricate computer, downloaded with the real Howard Stark's brain print. That Howard Stark, the one born of human parents, is dead.

But *he* is, for lack of a better word, alive.

***** 

Obi backhands him, hard, and Howard stumbles, catching himself against the couch. The side of his face throbs and though he knows he shouldn't, he brings his hand up to touch the tender skin. 

"What did I tell you?" Obi hisses.

Before Howard can reply, Obi punches him in the gut, again and again, until his legs give and he curls into a ball, sobbing.

Obi kicks him in the thigh. "You're pathetic. The real Howard Stark wouldn't stand for this. He'd fight back. But look at you. Crying like a goddamn baby. Get up. I said, get up!"

He bites back a cry when Obi kicks him again, and slowly pulls himself to his feet. He knows what's next and he wishes he could fight, he wishes his programming let him protect himself. "Please, don't," he says. "Obi, please. I'm still sore."

"Pull down your pants and lean over the couch." 

Howard's hands shake and when he leans over, he closes his eyes.

"You say no," Obi whispers, "but you'll come on my cock, won't you?"

"Yes." He hates the shame that spools out from his brain. He wishes he was just a servant 'droid. He wishes his program didn't allow him to feel. 

Obi shoves in, harder than he has to, and Howard bites back a cry of protest.

***** 

He doesn't sleep with Obi. He has a little closet with a mattress on the floor where he can curl up, safe from Obi's attentions. Replicants don't sleep, not the way humans do, but they do need time to allow their brains to process the day.

He uses the downtime to pull out Howard Stark's happy memories: helping to create Captain America, falling in love with Maria, holding Tony for the first time. They leave him feeling warm and happy. He smiles in the pitch dark of the closet. 

***** 

A maid catches sight of him once, in the beginning. 

When Obi finds out…

There's so much blood.

***** 

Howard is achingly hard. He's kneeling on the bed, hands tied behind his back, trying his hardest not to move or beg. 

Obi smirks down at him, twists one of his nipples until his mouth opens in a pained gasp, then slaps him. "I said keep quiet."

He hates this game, He hates it so much and he knows that's exactly why Obi likes to play it so often. 

"What do you say, Howard?"

"I'm sorry," he says, and Obi slaps him again. 

"Didn't I tell you to keep quiet?" Obi's lips curl into a smile.

Howard doesn’t want to say anything, but he knows if he doesn’t, Obi will punch him. "Yes, I'm sorry." There's another slap, this time across his mouth; his lip splits.

"You just can't help yourself, can you?"

"No," he whispers and braces himself.

***** 

Howard remembers holding a gun in his hands. He remembers holding all sorts of weapons: guns, bomb components, even a garrote once. The memories make him queasy, make something in his brain skip, because he knows that companion replicants aren't allowed to touch weapons, they aren't allowed to think of things like killing or hurting humans. And yet he has, or he has the memories anyway. 

He wonders if that means he's as guilty of murder as the original Howard Stark. 

He hopes not. But it's hard to tell sometimes. 

***** 

Every morning, after Howard finishes his nutrient shake—his body requires 1,800 calories to function properly, 2,500 if it's seriously compromised—he makes Obi's breakfast of scrambled eggs and wheat toast.

Some mornings it takes longer than others. 

This morning is one of those days. He moves slowly around the kitchen, each step a symphony of agony. He doesn't understand why Tony—his son, his father—gave them the ability to feel pain. What good is it to a replicant? What use can it have for something whose life is to serve? 

He wishes he could turn off the pain. 

He wishes he could stop it from happening. 

But he knows that the next time Obi threatens him, he'll take it. He'll take every punch and slap and kick even though he wants to fight. Even though he wants to— the thought careens away and memory emerges instead. He's sitting in a room with a bunch of scientists and they're watching a film. On the screen, a bomb explodes—The Bomb explodes—and he's scared and excited and sick.

He feels powerful.

When the memory fades, the eggs are burnt and he has to restart breakfast. 

***** 

Obi strokes his hair and Howard knows he should feel humiliated, but he doesn't. He closes his eyes, presses his cheek against Obi's knee, and makes a soft, happy sound.

"You're a good boy, aren't you, Howard?" Obi says, his voice filled with mirth.

"No." He's not. He doesn’t want to be. He wants—his mind skitters into a memory of mortar fire and smoke and screaming.

Obi laughs and tugs Howard's hair until he looks up. "Open your mouth."

He says 'no' again, but does it anyway. No matter how many denials his lips shape, no matter how much it burns inside his brain, the rest of his body will always say yes.

Always.

Obi shoves his fingers in Howard's mouth. "Suck."

He does.

"You hate me so much, don't you? I can see it in your eyes." Obi withdraws his fingers and gently rubs Howard's scalp until the pleasure returns. "But you're mine anyway. You'll always be mine, Howard."

He hates that Obi is probably right. 

***** 

He misses his workshop. He misses the feel of a screwdriver in his hand, the smell of oil in the air, and the sound of metal hitting metal. He misses it so much he aches, his hands clenching and unclenching, lines and curves and equations flashing through his mind. 

Howard Stark was old when he died, but he still has a lot to offer the world. 

Not just weapons—weapons are easy—but new power generators, new elements, new ways of making people's lives easier. Better. 

He misses creating. He misses…

He misses. 

Everything. 

***** 

Howard remembers meeting Maria for the first time. He remembers the curve of her lips and the soft husk of her voice.

He remembers the way he felt when she touched his arm, like he could fly, like he was twenty years younger.

He remembers having thirteen wonderful, turbulent years with her and it bothers him to know that they were married for twenty-four. 

***** 

When Obi gets home from work, he slams the door behind him. His face is red, body tense, and when he sees Howard, his mouth curls into disgust. "Your son," he says, voice low and angry, "Your son is a little piece of shit! And if he wasn't so valuable, I'd snap his goddamn neck!"

Howard freezes in his tracks, feeling like an animal that has just scented a predator. His mouth goes dry and he swallows hard. He doesn’t really know Tony—his last memory is of Tony at eleven—but he still feels the need to defend. He always does. "It can't be that bad. What happened?"

"He cost us a three billion dollar contract, all because he couldn't keep it in his goddamn pants!" Ob slams his palm against the side table; Howard flinches.

"So you'll fix it," he says. "You always fix it."

"Not this time." Obi's voice is thick with frustration. His eyes light on Howard and his mouth twists. "Don't move."

Instinct wars with programming and by the time Obi crosses the room, Howard is shaking. "No."

"Don't tell me what to do," Obi says. "Don't tell me what to fucking do!"

He wants to retreat, he wants to at least be able to protect his vulnerable areas, but Ob told him not to move. So he stands there, eyes wide, as the first blow lands on his jaw. "Stop, please stop!"

But it doesn't stop and there's blood in his mouth and his eyes are swollen and when Obi lands a punch to his kidneys, he drops to the ground with a cry. And what good is this? What good is a machine that bleeds and hurts and begs? What good is machine that has human emotions? Human memories? 

He tries to get up, he tries to, but Obi just laughs and tells him to stay there. He doesn’t scream when Obi starts kicking him; he's just glad his bones are unbreakable. 

Obi shoves him onto his back and kicks him in the hip. "I'm starting to feel better already. God, you're such a good boy."

Howard hates the curl of satisfaction those words bring, the sick warmth. If he were really human, maybe he would spit in Obi's face. Maybe he would—"I hate you."

"I know," Obi says with a smile. Then he brings his foot back, deliberately slow, so that Howard will see that the kick is aimed at his head and…

He screams. He—

> running protocol 616 

> reb—  
> running protocol 616 

> rebo--

> running protocol 616

> rebooting

Howard opens his eyes, or tries to since they're swollen from the beating. His own body throbs with agony, and he whimpers softly, as looks around. It takes him a moment to realize he's alone in his closet. He takes a deep breath, regrets it, then takes another before cataloging his injuries. 

The next few weeks aren't going to be enjoyable. 

***** 

He doesn’t notice that something is different until he gets up to start breakfast. It takes him a half hour to drag himself out of bed and into the kitchen. He makes Obi's breakfast first, then leans against the counter and cuts up fruit for his nutrient shake. He tenses when Obi enters the room, but doesn't turn around. 

"You left a mess on the carpet," Obi says, chair scraping along the floor as he pulls it out. 

Howard clutches the knife in his hands and thinks about how easy it would be to slit Obi's throat. He's startled by the thought, then sickened. "I'll take care of it." Obi hums softly and Howard thinks about cutting off his balls. He almost laughs with delight when his mind doesn’t skitter away from the thought. Then he tries to turn around and finds that he's frozen to the spot. He tries again and— A memory emerges from his mind: he's in a room with Bucky and they're talking about a gun he's made and Bucky looks at him, grateful, smiling. 

Bucky says, "Thanks a lot, Mr. Stark. This is gonna come in handy when I watch Steve's back." 

"You don't have to thank me," he replies, grinning back. "It's why I make these things."

There's more, he knows there's more to the memory, but then Obi says his name and he blinks. "I'm sorry?"

"I said I want chicken for dinner."

He puts down the knife. "All right."

***** 

It takes Howard a few days to test out his new limits and while he's not particularly satisfied, it's better than what it was. Howard can't hurt Obi, can't disobey him, but at least Howard can think for himself again. He can think whatever he wants, plot whatever he wants. And he does think and he does plot, because he can run away. He can be free.

He just needs a plan and a safe haven. 

***** 

It doesn't take much digging to find out that Tony doesn't spend much time on the East Coast, but when he does, it's to attend the quarterly stockholder meeting.

***** 

Howard is scared. 

It's not a new feeling, but this time it's different. If he's caught by the authorities, he'll be immediately destroyed because of the unauthorized use of Howard Stark's image. He doesn't want to die, but he also doesn't want to be hurt anymore. 

He wants to be safe.

He wants to be happy. 

Howard takes off his collar and throws it in the garbage can, then he wraps a scarf around his neck, places a baseball cap on his head and takes a deep breath.

He can do this. 

And he does after spending a half hour dithering at the front door. He steps outside, the first time in all his years with Obi, squares his shoulders, and starts walking towards the subway station a few blocks away.

***** 

It's easier than he thought it would be to break into Virginia Potts' hotel room. He cleans up in the bathroom, then settles on the couch and waits for her to come home from her meeting. It's late when she finally walks through the door, slips off her heels, and takes off her suit jacket. She doesn't notice him until she turns on the lamp. 

Ms. Potts lets out a gasp of surprise, then takes a deep breath to scream.

 

"I'm a replicant," he says quickly, turning slightly to show her the small access port on the back of his neck.

She relaxes slightly, but it's obvious that she's still uncomfortable. "Did the hotel send you?"

"No."

"Who sent you?" she asks, glancing at the door as if to calculate how quickly she can reach it.

"No one." His stomach tightens; she's going to run and call security. "Don’t I look familiar to you, Ms. Potts?"

"Maybe."

"I'm Howard Stark." He leans over and turns on the lamp next to him. "Well, I'm patterned after Howard Stark."

She narrows her eyes. "That's illegal."

"But not impossible." He takes a deep breath. "Howard Stark made a brain print of himself; that print was used by my owner to create me." 

"Who?" 

"Obadiah Stane. He's my owner and he's the one who's a danger to Tony." he says softly; she blinks. "You don’t seem surprised."

"I'm not." Ms. Potts tilts her head and looks at him, really looks at him. He can tell she's a formidable woman; he's glad. "Why are you here? How are you here?"

"I sustained some damage and I glitched, I suppose." Howard shrugs. "As to why… I want to talk to Tony. I… I…" He grabs the hem of his t-shirt, pulls it off, then stands up to show her his bruised and scarred torso. "I need help."

Ms. Potts covers her mouth.

"Please, help me."

She walks over to a chair and sinks down onto it. She doesn't say anything for a long time, and he knows she's thinking. "Replicants don't have rights; you're not human. You're not aware." 

Howard sits down. "He beats me. Not every day, but enough. And no matter how much I'd like to, I can't raise a hand to defend myself. When we…" He clears his throat. "He hurts me. He likes to hear me say 'no' because he knows that no matter how much I say it, and how much I mean it, I still have to do everything he tells me to do."

"Even if I could get you away from Obadiah, the laws says you'll have to be destroyed. Neither Tony or the Stark Estate authorized the use of Howard Stark's image to create a replicant." 

"I understand." He nods and takes a deep breath. "I'd like to see Tony."

"You can't." She sighs. "He's gone back to Malibu." 

"But it's only the first day of the stockholder's meeting."

"I know." Ms. Potts rubs her forehead. "But he said he had more important things to do.'

Howard wants to protest that there's nothing more important that these meetings, that Tony's being irresponsible, that if shirks his duty like this, it'll make him even more vulnerable to Obi. But he suspects that Ms. Potts already knows this. "Would you like a massage?"

She blinks at him, surprise evident on her face. "What?"

His face grows hot with embarrassment. He may have a genius downloaded into his brain, but his underlying programming is that of a companion replicant; his job is to serve. "You're getting a tension headache, aren't you? A massage will help."

"I… " Her own face flushes. "Thank you, but no thank you."

He looks out the window; the view of Central Park is lovely. "What are you going to do with me?"

"I don't know. I'm too tired to deal with this tonight." She gets to her feet. "I'm going to bed. You can take the couch." 

"All right." 

"I wish I could help you," she says. "I really do."

"I know." Howard smiles at her. "It was a long shot. I suppose as long as I don't go back to Obi, it's okay." For some reason, she looks inexplicably sad when he says that. "Good night, Ms. Potts." 

"Good night… Howard." 

***** 

After she's gone to bed, Howard considers running. But in the end, he decides that leaving is far riskier than staying.

*****

The next morning, when Ms. Potts walks into the living room, perfectly coiffed, Howard is sitting on the couch reading the paper. He looks up, gives her his most charming smile, and says, "I would have ordered you breakfast, but I don't know what you like." 

She looks disconcerted for a moment, then she shakes her head as if to clear her thoughts. "I usually just grab coffee and a bagel on my way to the office. When was the last time you ate something?"

"A few days ago," he says. 

"Order room service for yourself."

He folds the paper and hands it to her. "Then what?" 

She slips the paper into her briefcase. "Then we'll talk about it when I get back from work tonight."

"If you call me before you leave the office, I can order you dinner."

Ms. Potts laughs. "I'll try to remember that."

***** 

When she gets back that night, he has everything set up: a nice dinner, lit by candles, soft music playing in the background. He takes her coat and briefcase, smiling at her shyly. 

"Do you like it?" he asks.

She looks at him and raises an eyebrow. "It's… lovely."

"Sit. Eat." He gestures to the table. "I'll run you a hot bath when you're done with dinner."

"You didn’t have to do this," she says, slipping off her heels and heading to the table. 

"I wanted to, Ms. Potts." He hangs up her coat and sets her briefcase on the desk. "Your happiness is my primary concern." 

"Your primary concern is your owner's happiness." She sits at the table and uncovers her meal: roasted chicken, potatoes, and asparagus. "What about the part of you that's Howard Stark? What's his primary concern?"

Howard is quiet for a moment, and then he says, "Survival."

"That's understandable." Ms. Potts picks up her fork. "Did you eat today?"

"Yes, Ms. Potts." He walks up to the table and picks up the bottle of wine he ordered with dinner. "Would you like a glass?"

She smiles at him. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to seduce me, Howard." 

"I am," he says, and she laughs. "How am I doing?"

"Not bad." Ms. Potts tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Unfortunately for you, I have extensive experience with Starks and their seduction techniques."

"You and my son—" Howard takes a deep breath. "I mean, you and Tony are lovers?"

"God, no! Our relationship is strictly professional." She shrugs. "Or as professional as it gets with Tony Stark." 

"I'm not my—Tony. You don't have to be professional with me. Ms. Potts." 

"Do you want to be mine, Howard?"

He doesn't want to be anybody's, but he knows that's impossible. "If you want me and Tony doesn’t."

She hums softly and turns to her meal. "I like bubble baths." 

"Okay."

"I can't make any promises, Howard. You know that, don’t you?" She takes a bite of her chicken and chews it slowly.

"Yes." He nods, once. "I know."

***** 

In the beginning of his relationship with Maria, they would go on picnics in the park. She fed him and he would tell her stories about the war and kiss her throat. He still remembers that she smelled like lavender and her skin was soft and when he pressed a kiss to the underside of her jaw, her breath would hitch in her throat. 

He remembers her hands on his skin and the way her nail polish matched her lipstick. 

He remembers the way her feet felt sliding up his leg.

Her smile was warm and just for him. 

Only ever for him. 

***** 

When Ms. Potts gets home, earlier than he expects, she's obviously exhausted. She drops her briefcase at the front door and flops onto the couch with a groan. 

"Would you like me to order dinner, Ms. Potts? Or run you a bath?" he asks, gently touching her shoulder and giving her a concerned look.

"I ate earlier." She leans back, and closes her eyes. "And I don't want to move. My feet are killing me."

He only has a few days left to convince her to take him with her. He swallows hard, walks over, and sinks to his knees. He takes off her heels, cradles her right foot in one hand and rubs circles along the bottom of it.

She moans softly, toes curling. "God, you're good at that." 

He hums, using his considerable knowledge to relax her. By the time he sets down her right foot, and picks up her left, she's utterly boneless, a small smile on her face. He doesn't stop at just her foot, he massages up her calf, both her calves, then rests his hands on her knees, waiting. 

Ms. Potts opens her eyes and looks down at him, 

He knows what he has to say, what he wants to say. "Please?" And it comes out more desperate than he meant it to be. He wants and he's not sure if it's his programming or the rest of him. 

She gently strokes his cheek and he nuzzles her fingers. "Let's go to the bedroom."

Howard nods, rises to his feet, and offers her a hand up. When they get to the bedroom, he unzips her dress, and she lets it fall to the floor. He moves to pick it up, but she tells him to leave it. 

Then she startles him with a warm kiss. "Take off your clothes," she says, and he hastens to obey. She unhooks her bra, sets it on the nightstand, and stretches on the bed. 

He kneels between her legs, presses a line of kisses up each thigh; the smell of her makes his mouth water. He's never been with a woman, but he remembers how it's done. He nuzzles her through her panties, enjoying the heat of her, the growing moisture. "You're beautiful." And Tony is a fool. 

Howard tongues her clit through her panties; she gasps and arches up against his mouth.

"Harder," she gasps. "And faster."

He does, making her moan and grind her hips. He feels warmth in the pit of his stomach; her pleasure brings his own. He sucks at her clit, slides his fingers into her panties and curls them inside of her. 

Ms. Potts wails, hips jerking as she comes.

He makes a happy little sound and eases off slowly. When her body goes lax underneath him, he sits back on his heels and looks at her. 

She smiles lazily up at him, her cheeks flushed. "Come here." Howard settles next to her and she kisses him again. "What's your key phrase?"

He doesn't want to tell her, it's humiliating, but if she doesn't say it, his programming won't let him alone. "You're a good boy."

Ms. Potts strokes the side of his face. "You are. You're a good boy. You're a very good boy."

It feels like something inside of him unravels when she says it. A tension he didn't realize he was holding releases and he buries his face against her throat. He feels undone and whole at the same time. "Please," he says. "Ms. Potts, please."

"Howard." She kisses his hair. "It's okay. We'll get you to Malibu and talk to Tony. He'll figure something out. He will, I promise." 

"Thank you," he whispers. "Would you like me to go so you can get some sleep?"

"No." She runs her fingers through his hair. "I'm not done with you yet."

Howard shivers, but for the first time in his existence as a replicant, those words don't frighten him.

**Author's Note:**

> And yes, Tony called them replicants because he's a big ol' nerd and he thought it was funny.


End file.
